


Different Paths, Same Path

by Tarlan



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-18
Updated: 2005-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They walk different paths even though they are seeking the same end-goal, but Alex wishes it could have been the same path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Paths, Same Path

**Author's Note:**

> M/K Lyric Wheel 'Weather' Challenge.

The snows have melted bringing the first of the early spring rains lashing against the windows of my mildewed room in Kazakhstan. Staring out of the window, my thoughts mirror the color of the dark gray thunderheads. As always, those thoughts are of you, Fox Mulder, and the dream I left behind, half a world away.

Today I listened to the MIT broadcast where you denounced the existence of aliens in favor of a massive government conspiracy. You say you've got no faith in things that you can't see and I'm sorry I'm not there with you to give you back the faith you have lost. Except, you should have been here with me, I think bitterly. That is why I brought you here all those months ago, to show you the truth behind the conspiracy, but you had no faith even then. At least, no faith in me and I paid dearly for your lack of trust.

I rub the stump of my arm. The doctors say I will feel the phantom pain of this missing limb for years, perhaps for the rest of my life as my brain sends messages to fingers that no longer exist, and reacts to the lack of messages returned.

I should hate you. Certainly, I shouldn't shed any tears over you but I cannot help feeling responsible for your loss of faith. I itch to pick up the phone and contact you; wanting to tell you how sorry I am for the things I had to do. Given my choices over I would never have betrayed your trust in me, would never have allowed Cancer Man to manipulate me into causing you such pain. Certainly, I can think of no way to make amends... unless...

****

Two days out from New York and I am feeling as sick as a dog. The storm is battering against the ship, which rises and falls in the massive swells so alarmingly. As my stomach roils again, I heave a thin stream of bile for there is nothing left to throw up.

Part of me is wondering why I have done this to myself. I could be enjoying the slight decadence of Russian hospitality in Kazakhstan rather than spewing my guts on-board this stinking ship. Instead, I shall find little welcome from my former Russian compatriots having stolen the vaccine from them and the means of testing its effects.

I've done this for you, Mulder, though I'm certain you will be disgusted with my efforts.

The boy sits in the corner of the room but I doubt Dmitri is aware of what is happening to him. After all, I have first hand experience of being taken over by one of the Oiliens and no recollection of the days while I was under its control. My last memory before it happened was of the woman in the washroom in Hong Kong, my next was of kneeling on top of an alien craft spewing black oil from my mouth and eyes in a silo back in the good Old USA.

Rumor has it that I spent the entire plane trip sitting right next to you and you never even guessed. Well... this time you will know what you see, though I do regret having to seal the kid's eyes and mouth but I cannot take the risk of the Oilien deciding I'd make a far better host.

****

Marita. Beautiful ice goddess Marita. I should have known she had an ulterior motive for the sex. Such a shame I had not trusted her enough to let her know my true intentions for the boy. I could have saved both of us a lot of grief, especially as she had the same plan as me; to hand both the kid and the vaccine over to you, Mulder.

The Englishman has them both now, and he has Marita too, who was foolish enough to allow the boy to unpick the stitches sealing the Oilien in his body.

As I sit here in the ship, chained up and waiting for the Englishman to return, I wonder what they will do with the kid. Then I realize I ought to focus more on what the Englishman will do to me.

****

Your apartment is empty and I'm not certain if that is good or bad as I had already worked out all the scenarios for this initial confrontation based on you being home. You ought to be home for you left the FBI building over an hour ago. I change my plans and quickly scrawl a note that I leave sitting in the middle of your hallway.

Hours pass and I am starting to wonder where you are, hoping I had not made a mistake in coming here. Just as I am tempted to contact someone for information on your whereabouts, I hear the sound of a key turning in the lock. I take a deep breath and remain absolutely still as you wander in, falter and then stoop to pick up the tiny slip of paper.

That is my cue, and I smash into you, knocking the breath out of you and pinning you down with my one good arm. I have a message to deliver and I don't plan on you killing the messenger, and I don't plan on dying for *not* delivering this message either.

The bitterness in your low tone speaks volumes to me, shaking me out of the fuzzy warmth that always permeates through me whenever I'm touching you or even just hearing your voice. There is pain and regret in that tone, and loneliness... and despair.

As I pull back, my message delivered, I see the despair mingled with need in your expressive eyes and my heart breaks for you... for us, for all we could have been if I had walked a different path.

I cannot resist you, cannot leave without responding to your despair with an echo of my own regrets. Your cheek is rough beneath my lips, setting them tingling, your head turning into my kiss just a fraction too late as if we both knew that kiss should have lingered on joined lips.

Part of me expects to feel the heat of a bullet passing through my back as I turn and walk away but I don't care anymore. Instead, I leave you in silence, in darkness and, only when I reach my rental, do I lean heavy against the steering wheel and utter one single harsh gasp of pain that is deeper than mere physical.

When I start the engine and drive away, I wonder if I will ever see, hear or touch you again.

****

The war is over. One by one I have dispatched all the remaining clones made from Alex Krycek's cells and imprinted with his memories. I cannot allow any of them to live for they were inferior copies of that unique individual whereas I am a perfect copy. I have all his memories, all his desires and dreams but with none of it corrupted by the cloning process or by those who had presumed to be my master.

I owe the Englishman my second chance at life. I owe him for keeping me safe in one of his hidden laboratories and for transferring every part of Alex Krycek's unique mind into this new body. In all respects, I **am** Alex Krycek except I carry none of his physical scars. My skin is as soft and perfect as a newborn, and with all limbs accounted for. My eyes are brighter and clearer, no longer weighed down with the pain brought on by physical damage sustained over so many years.

Now, I'm sitting here and thinking, ignoring the patter of rain drops on the windscreen as I wait for your familiar figure to run past. You used to jog most mornings when you lived in Washington and, sometimes, I would follow at a distance, mesmerized by the rhythmic ripple of your muscles as you power along almost blind to the world around you. Here out in the west, I'm not surprised that you still like to start each day pounding the pavement, even when it drizzles occasionally. Or perhaps especially when it rains for the fine drizzle keeps you a little cooler as the temperature starts to climb rapidly at the start of each day. Within another hour it will be too hot to run without fear of dehydration.

I see you approaching, your incredible mind lost in whatever thoughts occupy you these days. I wait until you have passed, quickly flicking my eyes to the rear-view mirror, only to turn my head when I cannot catch sight of you as expected. The slight thud of the passenger door opening makes me jump and I barely have time to form a response as you slide into the passenger seat. The scent of your clean sweat fills the car, intoxicating in its intensity within the enclosed space and sending the blood zeroing to my groin.

I look at you, rattled by your appearance at my side, and see that familiar shit-eating grin plastered on your heavily perspiring face.

"So it _was_ a clone," you state but then your grin falters. "Or are you the clone?"

I'm not stupid. I know exactly what you are referring to, though that particular piece of information has kept me at a distance for this past year.

"Skinner killed a clone," I respond, answering only one of your questions but I can see your eyes dropping to my left arm, the arm I lost in Tunguska, seeing the very real arm with a very real hand attached to it, lying on my thigh.

"Where's the real Krycek?" you ask almost nonchalantly.

I quirk a smile at you and tap my head with one finger. "He's in here. All of him."

"Unchanged? Uncensored?"

"Right up to the last breath of life in my original body."

You seem to shudder at my words and I know you are wondering how I came to meet my ignoble end. In truth, the memory surrounding it is pretty hazy... something to do with radiation damage from one of the Oiliens. All I can recall is intense pain from burns over most of my body, inside and out... and the relief when I took my last breath in that damaged body and my first breath in this new one.

Your grin returns and I smile in response. I know you have all the answers now, all sorted inside that amazing brain that is as alien as my whole physical body.

You lean forward quickly and I flinch, recalling the fall of your fist the last time we were seated side by side in a car. You freeze momentarily, pinning me with your eyes, before moving in to brush warm lips across mine.

The kiss lasts but a moment but I am panting heavily by the time you draw back, closing my eyes as your sweaty hand cups my cheek.

"Alex," you breathe softly and I open my eyes to find yours only inches away. "No more games."

I swallow hard and nod, watching as you climb out the car and come round to my side, pulling open my door in a clear invitation. I follow you along the street and up the path to the quiet residence where you live these days.

As the door closes behind me, you turn and press up against me, one hand sliding under my t-shirt while the other cups my ass possessively. Your lips mash against mine, tongue plunging between my parted lips with a ferocity that ought to be wrong but, well, it's alright. It's all alright now, is my last thought as I give in to the pleasure and willing possession.

Finally, we walk the same path.

THE END

****

Many thanks for the lyrics,m Siberian Skys :-)

 _**Goo Goo Dolls - Two Days In February Lyrics  
And the guy across the street** _

_I hung your picture on the wall, but that's all it is  
I break my fingers to make a call but that's all it is  
I know you're livin' way out west  
But I don't think that I confessed  
Everything I feel_

 _You say you got no faith in things that you can't see  
Well, I'm sorry I ain't there with you, but you ain't here with me  
And I'm down in all my fears  
I ain't cryin' no tears over you_

 _Cuz everything's wrong  
But it's alright  
Everything's wrong  
Well, it's alright_

 _You said that this is crazy, you're half a world away  
Well, I'm sittin' here and thinkin', but I didn't know what to say  
So I said something I can't touch, I always want way too much anyways_

 _Cuz everything's wrong  
But it's alright  
Everything's wrong  
Well, it's alright_

 _I hung your picture on the wall, but that's all it is  
I break my fingers to make a call, but that's all it is  
I know you're livin' way out west, don't get me wrong  
I'm not impressed with you no more_


End file.
